


Thoughts for a Chill Night Beside the Delaware

by Neftzer_nettlestonenell



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5748436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neftzer_nettlestonenell/pseuds/Neftzer_nettlestonenell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot; A few of Caleb Brewster's thoughts as he sits vigil with a frozen Ben Tallmadge in S1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts for a Chill Night Beside the Delaware

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercuryGray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/gifts).



When it was cold, he thought of warmth.

Long months on whalers had taught him that.

The warmth of brown eyes that he'd long ago decided were like his mother's. The warmth of someone who loved you. Who needed you. Someone you loved back without thought or deeper reflection. The warmth of home on chill Long Island nights.

His sister was his home. He thought of what stood for her present home with his uncle, for the hearth there, as he looked deeply into the outdoor fire he'd made to give frozen, three-quarters-drowned Tallboy a chance to grab at some warmth.

Ben was as strong a swimmer as the next Setauket boy to be sure, but the weight of the gun, the shock of the water and the fall, and the wool in his uniform had combined to rob him of any ability he might have had to stay head-above-water.

Following the excitement of the rescue, Caleb had worked and waited, but he had not slept. Whaling was good training for that, too. For knowing what there was could be done for cold bodies robbed of anything that seemed like life by the water.

The cutting wind kicked up and he made himself again envision his sister Carrie, back at Uncle Lucas' farmhouse. She was perfect, he knew--no matter what anyone might say, no matter any diagnosis given by doctors of her palsy-stricken hand. Palsy was an affliction no stranger to Brewsters. And for all that it had further shrunken Carrie's shy life in this world, it did nothing to diminish her brother's affection for her. Hell, he had tremors of his own when he'd been celebrating--or mourning--at the tavern.

He was trying to be wise about parceling out the liquor now, to both Tallboy and himself, especially now that what few others there had been right after Ben's fall had had to travel on with Washington going Trenton-way. It was him alone, now.

Carrie would be a help, were she here. She were a natural at nursing a body, or just tending to one--be it by food or darning or medicine. How angry she would be that he'd not kept Ben in that boat! Oh, how she would blow at him. But only because she would be afraid, those small lines appearing on her face as she'd look down at Benny-boy, face like day-old ash, eyes that if opened, saw nothing for what it was. And when she was done doctoring Ben, she'd turn to him--grab him as tight as could her small frame--tight and warm, and beg to know that he was okay, that he had not been harmed--the cold had not gotten its claws too far into him.

He thought for a moment he heard Ben let out a low wail as the wind struck them and the lean-to he'd built, but realized, in his half-consciousness, that it was he who'd made the sound.

He made himself let his eyes unfocus, let the color and glow of the fire stand in for an Indian Summer day; reds, golds on the trees, warm enough for sweat on the brow. He imagined himself walking the track toward his uncle's, toward Carrie. The bend, just there, the orchard laden and fragrant with its ripe harvest just beyond. Hayman's lane toward that family's farmhouse off to the right. He heard Amos' dogs in the distance, asking each other whose scent they had caught on the air.

He gave up walking, started a jog. The trees went by faster, he nearly felt the occasional rock underneath his boot. He caught a glimpse of smoke from the kitchen chimney. She would have something warm ready for him to drink. And he'd a flask in his pack to add a drop to it.

He was nearly asleep when the camp-blanket-wrapped figure lying prone by the fire moaned and jolted him out of his reverie.

It took a moment to get his head on straight, so total was his exhaustion and his own chill (all blankets in use upon Ben's frozen frame). _My sister is at home_ , he reminded himself, _I am no longer at sea_.

He did not bother to get up from where he had propped himself, back to a young tree. Instead, he crawled to Tallmadge's side on his hands and knees.

"You tell 'em, Benny," he said, rubbing at Tallmadge's back, his wrapped-up arms, hoping to spark further warmth through the friction of his hands. "Give 'em what to for. Think of somethin' warm."

**Author's Note:**

> In response to MercuryGray's reblog at http://mercurygray.tumblr.com/post/135859676605/nettlestonenell-mercurygray-finally.  
> References my on-going TURN fic (The Secret Diary of Jenny Outerbridge), and the creation of Carrie Brewster, Caleb's younger sister. References MercuryGray's own Hayman family from her on-going fic (Once More to Part From You)


End file.
